


Someone Else's Hand

by incapricious



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-03
Updated: 2009-02-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 13:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/42224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incapricious/pseuds/incapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing Merlin wants is for Arthur to walk in on him just as he's whispering Arthur's name.  So of course that's exactly what happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someone Else's Hand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first merlinarthurfqf. Thanks to bewarethesmirk for the beta and to scrtkpr for the encouragement!

Merlin is lying on his bed with the blankets beneath him. He is sure that by now the first fingers of morning light are beginning to creep towards the window, but he doesn't open his eyes to check. He is too busy fucking.

In his imagination he is, at least. His fist slides up and down, tight around his cock while a kaleidoscope of images whirls through his mind: people he knows, faces contorted in pleasure, riding him, sucking him, penetrating him. Morgana turns into Gwen who turns into Arthur who turns, briefly, into Uther, before becoming Arthur again. Merlin gasps as the heat builds inside him. His toes curl and he speeds up his hand.

It is always like this when he gets close; the pleasure becomes tangible, pushing its way out until it surrounds him like a cocoon, isolating him from reality. Addled by lust, his mind loses all sense of propriety, imagining things that could never be, with people who would never be interested.

That's how it was his first months in Camelot: so many beautiful people, all of them fodder for his fantasies. But now, it is different. One person spins into view more often than the others, bare skin damp with sweat, golden hair shining in the candlelight, raw desire in his eyes.

That is what Merlin sees now as the other faces fade away to nothing. "Arthur," he whispers, his muscles coiled and pushing towards euphoria. He opens his mouth and slides his tongue out to caress his own lips, pretending they belong to someone else.

"You're going much too fast. That can't possibly feel good."

Merlin's hand clamps down on his cock and his eyes fly open. Arthur is standing at the foot of his bed, bathed in early morning light, his mouth quirked in a half-smile.

It seems too much to hope that he has fallen asleep while having a wank and this is all a dream. But if not, then Arthur just heard Merlin say his name while he was touching himself, which is going to make the next year or forty of Merlin's life horribly awkward.

Arthur raises his eyebrows and gives Merlin that infuriating "Well? I'm waiting" look. What can he possibly want Merlin to say? _I'm sorry for fantasizing about you. If you weren't so gorgeous, it wouldn't have happened._ That probably wouldn't go over well.

Although, actually, Arthur doesn't look appalled, just faintly amused. That must mean he didn't hear, because if he did, he would be horrified. Perhaps Merlin only thought Arthur's name or whispered it very, very quietly.

"Um. As a matter of fact, it does. Feel good, I mean," says Merlin, deciding that his only option is to pretend this is all perfectly normal. But really it's not: his fist is still wrapped around his erection, which has lost only a fraction of its hardness, and Arthur is looking at it.

Arthur brings a hand up to stroke his chin. "Really? I'd think you would chafe at that speed."

Is he really criticising Merlin's masturbatory technique? Merlin wonders if he should remove his hand and reveal that the skin underneath is undamaged. He thinks he'd rather not.

"Well, chafing or no, get on with it," says Arthur. "I need you to help me prepare for tomorrow's hunting trip."

What exactly did he mean by "get on with it"?

"I mean, look, Merlin, I'm a man -- and apparently so are you -- and I know there are certain activities that, if interrupted, can be extremely detrimental to your physical and mental abilities."

Merlin stares.

"And God knows your abilities are limited enough as it is."

Merlin continues to stare, the insult barely registering. He is becoming increasingly convinced that this is actually a dream.

Arthur rolls his eyes. "So what I'm saying is hurry up and finish so you aren't useless to me for the rest of the day."

Merlin looks down at his hand and then back at Arthur. The Prince of Camelot has just commanded him to masturbate. It's all a bit surreal, but Merlin is painfully turned on and for once Arthur is right: he will be miserable all day otherwise. He looks at Arthur, waiting for him to turn away. Arthur doesn't move.

"Do you want me to leave? Are you embarrassed?" asks Arthur, grinning. This is all very entertaining to him, clearly. "What, do you cry when you come?"

There is something about hearing Arthur say "come" and meaning _that_ and not "get over here" that sends a shudder of pleasure through Merlin's body, making his breath rush out, loud and fast, through his open mouth.

Arthur is no longer smiling. He has that serious look -- the one he gets when he has realised a situation is far graver than it first appeared. _Fuck. I'm going to the stocks again_, thinks Merlin. _Maybe even the dungeons._

Then Arthur steps forward and brushes his fingertips against the top of Merlin's foot. He is hesitant but not afraid. Testing, cautious, like Merlin is a wounded deer with an arrow sticking out of his flank.

Merlin's eyes flutter shut. He can't help it. He is hard and Arthur is touching him. A moment later he thinks, _No, this is something I need to see, so I will always remember it_, and forces his eyes open.

Arthur's neck is flushed. Merlin stares as the redness creeps towards Arthur's jaw line. Arthur must see something in Merlin's face, because his expression changes. He is confident now; he knows the arrow struck a vital organ. He takes a few more steps forwards and sits down on the bed.

Before Merlin can process this new development, Arthur is pulling at Merlin's wrist, forcing him to release his cock. It stands alone for a second before Arthur takes it in his own hand. He stares down at it, holding perfectly still except for the rise and fall of his chest.

"It's just a cock, Arthur," Merlin wants to say, except it's Merlin's cock and Arthur's hand and that isn't "just" anything. He thinks he might die purely from this. He is afraid to move, afraid to breathe, afraid to do anything that might end this moment.

But Arthur is not afraid. He moves -- a slide up and down, callused palms and fingertips pulling, then twisting near the top. Merlin grabs at the sheets beneath him and whimpers. Fuck. He can't-- he can't--

"You've used something," says Arthur, continuing his slow strokes, each one burning a trail on Merlin's skin. "Something to make it slick."

"It's ... a salve," Merlin manages to say between gasps. "Supposed to be for ... soothing sore muscles. Got it from ... Gaius." He pushes his hips up, craving more. His eyes flick back and forth, between Arthur's face and Arthur's hand.

Arthur chuckles and begins to move faster. "I'll have to get some," he says, "it's much smoother than what I use."

No one has ever touched Merlin like this before. It's just been his hand, either his left or his right, his whole life. He's never known what it's like to be out of control of his own pleasure. He is at Arthur's mercy.

The feeling is overwhelming. Merlin hears a low growl forming in the back of his throat as the heat reaches its breaking point. His cock feels huge and thick against Arthur's hand. He is going to lose it. He wonders if he should try to avoid ejaculating on the Prince, and the idea of his seed on Arthur's skin pushes him even closer to the edge. He is too far gone to be able to do anything other than breathe in sharply through his teeth by way of warning.

Arthur seems to understand, though. He grips harder and angles toward Merlin's stomach, away from the royal face. His lips are parted and red and Merlin wants to know what they taste like.

"Arthur," Merlin whispers. Arthur is looking at him this time, so he knows he hears him.

There is a moment of suspended bliss, when the entire world fades away and nothing exists but the two of them. Then Merlin's body pulses, contracting, and the world rushes back. He watches Arthur watch him come as warm wetness spurts across his stomach and chest. Arthur's hand slips up and down, slowing its pace. Merlin trembles with each stroke, feeling a delicious weight spread through him. He sinks back into his pillow.

"You'll notice that I didn't go as fast," says Arthur, wiping his hand on Merlin's leg and then on the sheets. His voice is low and rough. "You must admit that my technique is superior."

Merlin smiles lazily, his eyes half closed. This is real. "Mmm. I dunno. Maybe it was just having someone else's hand doing the touching," he says. "That's why it felt better."

"Ah ha, but it did feel better," says Arthur. "You admit it."

Merlin shrugs. He can't stop smiling.

When Arthur stands, the bulge in the front of his breeches is obvious. "Very well," he says, "we'll see if you're right about this _other person's hand_ business. Get up." He starts to undo his laces. "My turn."

\- end -


End file.
